


Lost Ones

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 13:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4103062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a work in progress and may not get finished. I just wanted to try writing something on here. If met with enough feedback I will continue it, but updates will not be in any specific time frame. .</p>
    </blockquote>





	Lost Ones

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress and may not get finished. I just wanted to try writing something on here. If met with enough feedback I will continue it, but updates will not be in any specific time frame. .

The alarm blasts through the speakers, echoing in the hallways. I roll off of my mattress, sighing as I begin to dress in my dull grey outfit. I join the flock of people wandering towards the dining hall. We separate into two uniform lines, each getting our breakfast and settling into our assigned tables. No one speaks.

Figures.

The clack of eating utensils against the dishes is startlingly loud against the quiet. When our meals are finished, we file into the kitchen to wash them.  
No one speaks.

It's always this way, just the sound of us doing our assigned work, the occasional noise of a cough or sneeze. The higher-ups speak to give orders, they speak to reprimand, and they speak to each other.  
The Commons don't speak. What are we to speak of? The work? 

Most of them are beyond gone, anyways. Driven mad by the solitude, perhaps.  
Sometimes the older ones, the ones that know to read, will teach the younger ones. Sometimes we will receive old schoolbooks, charity from the government. 

I silence my thoughts and continue to work.  
\--

I put my pen down and hide my journal, checking the time. It is 6:00 PM, so I have 5 minutes to clean up, hide my stolen things, and get in bed, before the nurse comes in and injects me. I was brought here on February 23, 2285, according to my old nurse. We used to be friendly before the leaders found out and removed her (association with humans in any manner other than for business is strictly prohibited). I wish I could have conversations now, but the other patients are all slightly maf, and a bit twitchy. I've learned that solitude sometimes does that to people. Some people can't handle their thoughts, I guess. Some just are social. 

The nurse comes in, orders me to sit in a cool tone, and inserts the needle in my skin. I stare at the blue liquid. When did medicines become colored?  
I stare out of the window at the deep green fields of plants when she removes the needle, not wanting to see the blood bead up on my arm. 

\-- 

I tread on silent feet down the hallway, to the library. It's suprising how much freedom we have in this facility, considering. Rules are never really enforced. We are here to work, but we are not exempt from human rights. We have a small library full of the books allowed from the government. Sometimes we will receive a shipment of schoolbooks and supplies. The younger ones get an hour of education, but then it's back on the feilds or working in the kitchens.  
A floorboard creaks  
I whip around to stare at the shadowy figure behind me. I believe his name is Will. He murmurs a greeting and brushes past me, not worrying about politeness. Sometimes him and I will have conversations. They don't last long. We have nothing to speak of. Our lives are the same. Wake, eat, work, library, sleep. Education is crucial for mental clarity and expression. I settle in a chair with a book on mice, the soft glow of a lamp illuminating the page to the point where it is legible.  
Time passes and I read of the anatomy.  
More time passes and I am on the 300th page when someone clears their throat. I look up at them, anticipating a scolding and maybe a smack. Instead I am met with an almost-familiar wave and a flash of blue eyes.


End file.
